from me to you
by withnorthernlights
Summary: [Bade] It takes 7 years and 10 crumpled sheets of paper for him to decide that pride isn't such an important thing after all. / or: a Valentine, from Beck to Jade


_[+ 0 years]_

Jade,

Hey.

That's not the right thing to put in a Valentine, is it? I should really ask Tori how to be more romantic. _Actually_ , forget I ever mentioned Tori, or that she's even a part of this, or―

Screw it.

•

 _[+ 1 year]_

Jade,

Are you okay?

(I'm not.)

But of course, _you_ are - you're flashing in spotlights that light up the entire city. You're a sensation, a novelty, a _constellation among stars._ You just seem to put yourself together better than anyone else.

No wonder you're a hit, with off-the-charts albums and shows, and so many boys vying for a single glance.

But that's not why I'm writing to you.

I'm not really writing to ask you how you are, or how you've been. I wanted to tell you that maybe (okay, not just _maybe_ ) I'm one of those boys, too.

No, I don't know how to properly say this. (You know I was never a person of words.) But smooth lead and ink and paper are comforting in a way things have never been before.

I'm still afraid.

And hurt.

If I didn't fall so hard, it'd be much easier to pick myself up. But you pushed me to the ground, with the wind knocked out of me, and there's no way I'm getting back up anytime soon.

Maybe next year.

Maybe then, I'll work up the guts to send this to you.

Until then, Valentine.

•

 _[+ 3 years]_

Jade,

I miss you.

Call me crazy, call me weak (I can _hear you_ ), but we're years from where we started from and all I remember is you.

I don't remember much from high school, when my entire life was basically an improv class.

I don't remember when I used to be so open I traded my locker door for one made of glass (I'm drowning in all my secrets now).

I don't remember a pretty, brown-haired girl with a prettier smile and even prettier eyes.

I only remember you.

When I think back as far as I can go, my memories only come up with black hair, streaked heavily with green. I can only see striking blue eyes, and a vicious, feral grin.

 _Jadejadejadejade_ , whispered slowly, imploringly, through the night and into the dawn.

A scalding cup of coffee, a pair of scissors, sharp as your wit (and almost as dangerous).

Long hours in the RV, your house, your car - anywhere, really.

If I try hard enough, I can still feel the touch of your skin, the taste of your lips; I can still feel what I was when I was with you.

I've just realized that I can't do this.

(My pencil broke because I was pressing too hard.)

One day, if I ever give myself away, I need to have a part of you, too. Forgive me.

I can't ever let you read this.

Please don't ever read this.

(I'm burning this as soon as I get home.)

Please don't ever forget me.

•

 _[+ 5 years]_

Jade,

We broke up on the 14th of February, forever and a day ago.

That's why you hate Valentine's Day so much, isn't it?

(Wait, of course it is. I'll erase that, later, if I can ever find my eraser.)

I probably shouldn't mention the breakup unless I want a pair of scissors thrown at my head, but there's something I want to say.

When you left, it broke my heart.

(There. I said it. Are you happy now?)

Still, now, I don't know why I didn't follow you. I have no idea why I didn't throw open that door and run after you, take your hand and kiss you until you could trust me again.

If you ever hear me slamming doors now, that's just in case, so I don't make the same mistake. I don't want to be on the wrong side of the door, where I can't see you walking farther and farther away from me.

It means nothing now, but I'd take it back in a heartbeat.

I'd do anything to go back to being just me and you, Beck and Jade, dark and light, sun and moon, heart and soul.

(If I get any cheesier you'll slap me from the other side of the city. I'll stop now.)

I guess this one's to you, a reminder of an anniversary I hate but need to remember so I don't act out a reprise. Because I won't. Ever.

You've finally made it - you're big and famous (how couldn't you be, with a Hollywood name like Jade West?) - and I'm still here.

I've watched all of your shows.

I have the ticket to each one, pressed into a blue-green folder somewhere deep in my closet. And you were spectacular, in every one. (But you knew that already, didn't you?)

(Sometimes you just need someone to show you that you're as amazing as you are. I'm always here to let you know that.)

I'm not sure why I watch you do what you do - why I watch you pour your heart out in a torrent of song and speech and passion - but maybe it's because it's been so long. It's been a really long time since I've known a girl like you: a girl who sings and acts and writes, a girl who shakes the whole world when she walks.

I miss that girl.

So I come to your shows, the ones you write yourself that are dark and powerful, and hide in the back row, so I can see the person you've become and forget the person I am. I buy ticket after ticket, breathe in stage lights and anticipation. I wait after you finish, thinking that today'll be the day I ask you for an autograph, a memory, a kiss. Then I leave.

I wrote this letter because I was going to give it to you at your debut at that new theater that just opened. The paper still has a crease, and I put a stamp on the envelope and everything. But I couldn't do it.

These aren't the right words, this isn't the right time. My broken pieces are still too new, too raw, and slick with heartbreak.

You're my Valentine - you are every year. I'm in my pathetic house hoping that one day you might be mine. But Beck Oliver isn't a brave man. He wasn't then, he isn't now.

I'll put this away in that blue-green folder that matches your eyes, and maybe a day will come that I can find the courage to send it, to spill my entirety out to you.

Today isn't that day.

Forgive me, Jade.

I really do miss you.

•

 _[+ 7 years]_

Jade,

I'm sorry.

I can't believe I didn't see it then, when we were still together, and you still trusted me with your body, your heart, your mind. I see it now, but it's _too little, too late._ I see all the things I should've done, all the words I should've said that I didn't.

Why didn't I? Why didn't I do it, why didn't I say it?

I ask myself that a lot now.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I never took your side, or defended you against anyone else, even when you were wrong.

I'm sorry that I always took you for granted, always assumed that you'd be there again - until you just _weren't._

I'm sorry I never stopped ogling other girls, never listened to you when you told me some other girl was hitting on me, staring at me, dying for my attention. I'm sorry I never fully understood how beautiful you were (are).

You were jealous, always freaking out, always scared someone else had stolen me away from you, but I'm sorry that I didn't love you enough to trust me. I should've listened to you every second of every day we were together.

I don't even remember the last time you spoke to me.

I want to hold you, spin you around and beg for your forgiveness because I don't really deserve you. You lit a fuse inside of me when we kissed for the first time, and a part of me's been burned away ever since you left.

Even back then, none of our friends understood what we had, or why we had it. You were beautiful, a deathly, lethal kind of beauty, but you were also brash, and cruel, and envious.

I was the hot photographer with the good hair and nice smile, sweet but aloof, who put up with you just because we'd been together for so long. _You were lucky to have me._

A little voice inside my head liked to whisper that, but now I realize how wrong that was.

I love(d) you because you're intelligent, and funny, and strong, because you're fierce, and talented as hell.

What I'm saying is that then, now - I can't help falling in love with you.

I'm sending everything I've written to you since that day - love-struck notes from a boy you probably don't even remember. (We weren't each other's _first_ s or _only_ s, not by a long shot.)

I hope those years so long ago were as real to you as they are to me.

I miss you.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

Beck

•

 **A/N: Yes, they got back together, but bade still breaks my heart a little each time, and I'm extremely frustrated with Beck's character, so I figured I'd do a little something different.**

 **Originally written for Fanfic's From The Heart contest on Wattpad.**


End file.
